


if it's not rough

by achilleees



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gunplay, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2018-01-01 00:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achilleees/pseuds/achilleees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You want to know a secret, Chuck Hansen?” Raleigh purrs. “I don’t give a shit who you are. You may be a rich and powerful executive, but to me you’re just another civilian and I couldn’t care less how much money you make.”</p><p>“You’re a <i>gardener</i>,” the boy says, spitting mad. Still, he’s calmed down, at least. No longer thrashing.</p><p> </p><p>Working title: <i>like hate-fucking without the hate</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if it's not rough

**Author's Note:**

> As I said on my tumblr, I wrote this fic months ago and decided not to post it anywhere because I didn't think it was good enough, but then I saw the following prompt on the kink meme - 
> 
> "Chuck is a spoiled brat with daddy issues. Raleigh is a sexy ex-military in need for a job that is hired by Herc to be their gardener. Chuck treats Raleigh like shit because he can, and only respects him one day when they're alone and Raleigh tackles him to the ground Watch your mouth, kid"
> 
> \- and I was like WHAT. HOW DID THIS PSYCHIC ANON KNOW I WROTE THAT FIC.
> 
> So I figure there's some interest in it, or whatever. I swear I hadn't seen the prompt when I wrote it. WEIRD.
> 
> Bear in mind, this is more the Raleigh who punched Chuck in the face than the Raleigh who looks at Mako like bubbles and sunshine come out of her ass. Raleigh is not the sweet nice gentleman here that we know and love. Considering, among other things, Chuck is 17, so be warned.
> 
> (PS sorry AO3 for the fact that I take up like 60% of the Chuck/Raleigh fic on here. I can't help myself, these boys are too much fun to write. Also sorry for the obscenely long notes.)
> 
> Did you check out this [art](http://tsailanza.tumblr.com/post/68123719610/rough-by-tsailanza-achilleees-is-to-blame-for) from Tsailanza? Cuz you should do that, for real. It's the good stuff.

 

 

When Raleigh looks up, the kid is standing on the patio, sneering. “Oi, I’m not paying you to text,” he says almost uninterestedly as he types a message on his Blackberry.

“I’m ahead of schedule,” Raleigh says through gritted teeth, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I’ll still be done by four.”

The boy looks up. He’s crazy pretty, in a _young_ way. Fresh-faced, although anything but innocent. Those eyes have seen death, and laughed at it.

Doesn’t make Raleigh like him any more.

“No wonder you’re ahead of schedule. Your work is piss-poor,” he says.

“Look, I did what you paid me to do.” Raleigh says, exasperated. He lowers his voice. “You gotta problem? Suck it up.”

Admittedly, he is being more antagonistic than his manager would like to hear. But this kid grates him like no other. Like Sasha, if she were a civilian. Undeserved arrogance rubs him the wrong way.

The kid raises an eyebrow. “Scuze me?”

“The garden is weeded and your pool is clean. Only thing I got left to do is mow the lawn. So –“ Raleigh gestures, “just stop looking for things to complain about.”

Something about his words makes the kid smirk. Raleigh doesn’t like being smirked at. “With you, I don’t have to look hard,” he says.

Raleigh’s eyes narrow. “You really, really don’t want to piss me off,” he says quietly.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” the kid drawls. And turns to leave.

Raleigh goes to grab the lawnmower from the shed. He really doesn’t like that asshole. Hopefully he’ll finish before his body convinces his mind that it would be a good idea to show the kid how dangerous he really is.

 

He finishes 20 minutes ahead of schedule and dicks around cleaning up everything and gathering his junk. Then he heads up to the mansion at the top of the hill to collect his tip. Because he’s so fucking nice, he leaves his shoes at the door as he allows the butler to lead him to the kid’s office.

He stops in the doorway, needing a moment to compose himself. The kid’s fingers fly across the keyboard of a laptop as he types, his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow. He’s wearing glasses and his tie is loosened. It’s… weirdly hot.

“You’re not my type,” the kid says dryly.

Raleigh snaps out of it. “What?”

“You’re staring,” the kid remarks. “I’m making this easy for both of us. I prefer brains over brawn.”

Raleigh growls in his throat. “What did I say about pissing me off?”

“Like a bloody Neanderthal,” the boy says under his breath. “How the hell do you convince girls to fuck you? Club them over the head and drag them back to your cave?”

Suddenly, something occurs to Raleigh. “What the fuck. Is this your twisted way of flirting with me?” he asks, incredulous.

The boy’s eyes snap up to meet his. “What?” he says, abruptly vulnerable.

Raleigh smirks. “I’ll make it fucking easy, pansy boy. I don’t do weaklings. Actual muscle is a requirement.”

“Look, mate, I don’t have the time or interest to handle your delusions,” the kid says. Raleigh has to admit, he’s good at the whole ‘cool and disaffected’ demeanor. Unfortunately, it only serves to make Raleigh’s pulse ratchet in his chest, tight and angry. He _hates_ cool and disaffected.

He paces around the desk until he’s behind the kid, whose back goes tense, shoulders one long line of apprehension. At least he’s well trained enough to not like having people behind him. He’s smart. He’s also stubborn, what with the way he still refuses to turn around and get a better angle to face his predator.

Raleigh likes that. It makes his life easier.

“Don’t turn around,” he breathes out, leaning so his lips linger over the kid’s ear.

The kid’s hand clenches over his computer mouse. “What are you doing?” he grinds out.

“Shh,” Raleigh grins. He trails his knuckles over the boy’s back, feelings the ridges of his spine through his white button-down.

The kid struggles to stay still, but his hand quivers just enough to show that Raleigh’s getting to him. “I thought you didn’t do weaklings,” he says, feigning apathy. It’s almost convincing.

“I don’t normally, but you – you need to have the _tight_ fucked out of your ass.”

A hitch of breath. Then an elbow to the gut.

Raleigh grunts, catching the kid’s wrist and slamming it onto the desktop. It’ll leave a bruise. He does the same with the other wrist before the boy can react.

But react he does. The kid thrashes with the expert focus of a special ops soldier, smashing his shoulder back to clip Raleigh’s jaw, then stomping on his instep with a bare foot. He smacks the back of his head into Raleigh’s nose so hard his eyes well up with tears. But no trained soldier would release a target due to minor pain, and Raleigh is no rookie.

“Bitch,” he snarls, slamming the kid onto the desk so he’s facedown over it, papers and electronics sent skidding over the smooth surface.

“I will destroy you,” the kid hisses, something dark and manic in his eyes as he glares over his shoulder at Raleigh. “Do not touch me.”

Raleigh knocks his forehead into the desk with a casual pass of the hand. It rebounds with a dull thud, and the boy winces.

“You want to know a secret, Chuck Hansen?” Raleigh purrs. “I don’t give a shit who you are. You may be a rich and powerful executive, but to me you’re just another civilian and I couldn’t care less how much money you make.”

“You’re a _gardener_ ,” the boy says, spitting mad. Still, he’s calmed down, at least. No longer thrashing.

“By choice, not by trade,” Raleigh says. He pulls his dog tag out from under his t-shirt so it rests against the back of the kid’s neck.

The kid stays silent, just breathing onto the desk for a moment. Then he turns around in Raleigh’s grasp, clothes twisting awkwardly against his skin as he shifts his position. He looks up, eyes smoldering, and catches Raleigh’s dog tag between his teeth.

Raleigh goes hard so fast his knees nearly buckle.

That’s when the kid kicks him in the groin.

He tries to jerk back, but the chain from his dog tag cuts into his neck and keeps him there, held in the surprisingly strong jaw of the kid. “You little shit!” Raleigh swears, clutching his throbbing balls. The boy tries to scramble back over his desk, but Raleigh gets him by the belt and restrains him.

And pulls out the pistol he keeps tucked into the back of his jeans under his baggy t-shirt, switches off the safety, and presses it under the kid’s jaw in one smooth move.

All motion halts.

The boy’s eyes narrow. “You’re bluffing,” he says with no uncertainty. “You wouldn’t kill me over this.”

“Maybe,” Raleigh shrugs. “But you don’t know anything about me, do you? You don’t know if I’m emotionally unstable because of my time in the service. You don’t know how much I hate being condescended to by rich assholes. You don’t know if I’m just plain psychotic. You don’t _know_.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” the kid says, still relaxed. He’s good.

Raleigh’s better. “Maybe,” he repeats. He presses the gun harder into the boy’s jaw. “How much are you willing to bet on it?” And harder still, so white circles imprint on the boy’s already pale skin. “You willing to bet your life?”

The boy draws in a shaky breath. Then, smooth and steady, “What do you want me to do?”

“Take off your pants.”

The boy complies, balancing his weight on one hand as he arches his hips to slide off his slacks. He settles back on his elbows on the desk. Raleigh has to slide between his parted legs to keep the gun at the right angle under his chin.

Raleigh’s gaze flicks down and he hums his interest at what he finds there. “You’re getting off on this,” he comments, nonchalant. The heat missing in his voice manifests in the gleam of his eyes.

“So are you,” the kid says without missing a beat.

It’s a fair point.

His eyes are like ice. Detached, bored, aloof ice. If it weren’t for the hardness pressing against his thigh, Raleigh would believe the whole act. His gaze flicks down again, this time taking a meandering path around, lingering on the kid’s thighs and forearms. Brat has a nice body, from what little he can see. “Strip,” Raleigh commands.

The kid follows his order, and soon there’s a long, lean body bared for Raleigh’s appraisal. He ghosts the fingertips of his free hand over the kid’s defined abs, then lower still, raising goosebumps on the smooth skin of his hips. Then lower still.

The kid tilts his head back and hisses a curse as Raleigh wraps a fist around his cock, watching the motion under lowered eyelashes. While he’s eyeing Raleigh’s hand pumping him, Raleigh watches the way his lips part, the way his stomach muscles clench.

The kid reaches out suddenly, and Raleigh is so startled by it that the gun leaves its station at his jaw as he smacks the kid’s arm away with the back of that hand. But the gun is back in place a second later, and Raleigh raises an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

“I want you naked also,” the kid explains.

“Why?” Raleigh asks, confused.

“The fucking looks like its inevitable, and if it’s gonna happen anyway, I’d rather not get a rash on my ass from your jeans.”

It sounds reasonable, but Raleigh doesn’t buy it for a moment. “Sure,” he snorts. “And you’re not going to try to get the gun away from me while I’m tangled up in my clothes, or anything.”

That garners him a flat look. “Yeah, I’m actually imbecilic enough to try to wrestle a gun from a psycho while he completely expects it. Matter of fact, I have a death wish.”

Hmm. Fair enough. Then the truth hits him, and Raleigh smirks. “You’re trying to even the playing field by making sure I don’t have access to any other hidden weapons. Plus, people are more vulnerable when they’re naked.”

The boy shrugs. “Couldn’t hurt to try. So –” A cry is torn from his throat as Raleigh twists his hand on the upstroke, tightening his grip.

“Sure, I’ll strip,” Raleigh shrugs. He’s never seen the appeal of having sex with clothes on, anyway.

It takes some careful maneuvering to do it without moving the gun, but he manages. Minutes later, he’s naked, his clothes in a pile on the floor. The kid’s eyes go hot and bright as they skim over his body, looking surprised, and Raleigh has to chuckle. Apparently, in all of the boy’s manipulation, he somehow forgot that Raleigh would be naked for this next part.

By this point, Raleigh isn’t even mad anymore. He can’t remember why he ever was. He’s losing his edge, and he knows it. But for the sake of that body, and those eyes? He’s willing to fake it.

“Lube?” he growls.

The kid takes a moment to answer. He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from Raleigh’s pecs. Apparently, his body is very distracting. Then Raleigh’s question sinks in and he frowns. “In my bedroom,” he offers.

“Not happening,” Raleigh says. He drags the boy forward so he’s at the very edge of the desk and presses in close so their bodies lock together, hilt-to-hilt. The hammer of the gun is against his own chest from their proximity, but the barrel stays snug against the kid’s jaw.

The boy glares even as his body shivers against Raleigh. “I’m not doing this without lube,” he says flatly.

Raleigh trails the pad of his thumb over the boy’s lips. “Then you’d better slick me up good,” he says, pressing the tips of his middle three fingers into his mouth.

A fiercer glare, but the kid obliges, swirling his tongue around Raleigh’s fingers. He takes them all the way in, and Raleigh can’t help but picture that taunting mouth stretched around his cock. The kid knows it, with the way he’s sucking on his fingers like a whore, teasing and obeying at the same time.

“Shit,” Raleigh bites out, his cock jerking against the crease of the boy’s hip.

The kid smirks as he releases Raleigh’s fingers, but it falls away when Raleigh trails them over the rim of his entrance. He slides one finger inside to the knuckle and the kid squirms, falling back on his elbows. He sets his jaw to keep whatever noises locked inside, and Raleigh huffs a laugh but lets him.

He preps the kid quickly, passionlessly, anxious to get to the good part ahead. Though he can’t deny he likes the way a flush spreads down that lean torso as the boy fights not to react, and the small noises that slip out even through clenched teeth. The kid is fucking _pretty_ when he writhes. His glasses are gone, though Raleigh isn’t sure when they left his face, and his eyes are huge and bright as they stare at Raleigh’s mouth.

The gun is more of an afterthought than anything at this point.

Raleigh chuckles and leans forward to bite the kid’s lower lip teasingly. “You ready?” he asks. He keeps their faces close; their breath mingles between their mouths.

“Give me another minute,” the kid manages. His eyelashes flutter as Raleigh twists and curls his fingers.

Raleigh nods and pulls back, and the boy follows without meaning to, seeking to capture Raleigh’s lips in a kiss. He catches himself and jerks back. If he were anyone else, he would be blushing his embarrassment, but the kid just looks away.

With that, Raleigh can’t even fake anger anymore. He grins as he snags his jeans with his foot and drags them close enough that he can bend down and pull a condom from the back pocket. “You’re pretty cute for a rich asshole,” he says.

The kid eyes him contemplatively. He takes so long to talk that Raleigh’s already got the condom rolled on, his cock positioned at the boy’s entrance, before he speaks.

“You’re worthless and pathetic, and I think you’re probably using me as a surrogate for the person you’re too wussy to pursue,” he says in his cool voice.

Raleigh gapes. “What did you say?” he growls, eyes narrowing to match the boy’s own.

“Did I stutter?” the kid says, the corner of his lips curling in a condescending smirk.

“Bitch,” Raleigh snaps. His free hand tightens on the kid’s waist, and the gun trembles against his jaw.

“Spineless coward,” the boy counters.

And that’s it. Raleigh drops the gun to the side, not caring where it lands, and gets the boy’s hips in both hands. Then he thrusts into him so hard the kid only stays on the desk because of Raleigh’s restraining grip.

The kid’s eyes go wide and he hitches a breath, but the smirk doesn’t leave his face. “Is that the best you can do?” he drawls.

White-hot rage floods Raleigh’s body. He pulls back his hips and slams in again, unrelenting. The kid’s elbows give out and he falls back against the desk. “Sissy,” he grits out, teeth digging into his lower lip.

Raleigh fucks into him again, and again, each thrust harder than the last, his pace brutal. Any pleasure he feels is eclipsed by the anger fueling his body, coursing through his veins like his life’s blood. But even that has a certain pleasure of its own. He’s so mad that it honestly feels good – a euphoria in and of itself. Rage mingles with ecstasy, and he snarls, gripping the boy’s hips with bruising strength.

But even through that sensation clouding his mind, he realizes something. “You were trying to make me mad,” he pants out. “To make me a better fuck.”

“Worked, didn’t it?” the kid manages, tense all over, all taut muscle and bitten lips. “You’re – oh _fuck_ – damn easy to – God, yes, yesss – manipulate.”

That, remarkably, makes Raleigh even angrier. At this point, he’s honestly seeing red. He hates being manipulated. He hates this stupid kid and his fucking perceptiveness. He hates everyone who refuses to say what they fucking mean. He hates everything. And damn, but it feels so good.

“Beg for it,” he growls, easing his thrusts.

“No,” the kid says. He writhes in Raleigh’s hands, clawing at the desk, but his lips stay clamped shut.

“Beg,” Raleigh repeats. “If you want more, you're gonna have to talk me into it.” He angles his hips so his cock rubs teasingly against the kid's prostate, slow and torturous.

The boy looks at him for a moment, green eyes hazy yet sharp, before he pushes himself up and drags Raleigh’s mouth down to meet his. The kiss is even rougher than the sex, though Raleigh wouldn’t have believed it possible, with more teeth than tongue, more force than finesse. Blood pools in his mouth – he’s unsure whose – and leaks out to trickle onto their chests, smearing like war paint in their sweat.

Then the kid pulls back just far enough to gasp, “Raleigh!” against his lips, breathless and yearning.

Any and all self-control dissolves at that, like sugar in water. Or, more appropriately, like Mentos in Diet coke.

Raleigh explodes. He throws the kid back on the desk and snaps his hips in, out, in, out, and the kid can’t hold in shouts, moans, whimpers, noises pouring from his throat as Raleigh fucks the sense out of both of them. It’s the hardest he’s ever fucked – the hardest _anyone’s_ ever fucked, he’s sure – and the kid is gone, completely fucking gone, no reservations, no manipulation. But Raleigh can’t exactly gloat, because Raleigh’s brain is in exactly the same state of mindless lust and molten pleasure.

So when the kid grabs his dog tag and drags him down into another kiss, he’s unable to keep from coming instantly, body jerking as he empties himself inside the stupidly sexy brat. The kid smirks and Raleigh growls and bites his lower lip, and that’s when the kid goes wide-eyed and arches into him, coming with a sharp cry.

There’s a moment of calm. Raleigh slumps over the kid, all sticky skin and panting breaths against his neck. For a few minutes, he rests his head on the boy’s chest, feeling the rapid pace of his heartbeat under his forehead. When he looks up, he sees the slackness in the boy’s lips, the glaze over his normally piercing eyes.

Then, simultaneously, they go scrambling for the gun. Raleigh’s fingers brush against it, but he doesn’t quite get a grip and it slides off the desk and hits the floor, causing them to freeze for a second just in case it discharges. When it doesn’t, they both roll off the desk onto the floor, wrestling like puppies to get it. A bony elbow smacks Raleigh in the windpipe, and by the time he regains mental functions, there’s a pistol pressed against his chin.

He relaxes, sprawled across the hard wooden floor. “You know how to use that thing, little man?”

“Yes,” the boy says instantly. Raleigh believes him.

“You gonna shoot me? Paint the walls of your pretty office with my brains?”

The boy hesitates. “If I have to,” he says. Raleigh believes that too.

He stretches. “So what do you want me to do?”

The boy straddles his waist, all lithe muscle in his lap, so light he can barely feel it. He braces one hand on Raleigh’s chest as he wordlessly lifts the gun and pressed it to Raleigh’s lips.

Something hot slithers down Raleigh’s spine as he opens his mouth and takes the barrel between his lips. It tastes like gunpowder and sweat. He raises his eyebrows, as if to ask ‘what next?’

There’s something dark in the kid’s eyes, something that makes Raleigh wonder if he hasn’t been playing him this whole time. But hey, Raleigh got hot sex out of it, so he’s not complaining. Not until the kid smirks, eyes narrowed like a pleased cat, and drawls, “Now it’s my turn.”

Raleigh’s eyes go wide and he makes muffled noises of protest around the gun, which the kid silences by pressing the barrel deep enough to almost gag him. He chokes and glares hot poison but stops struggling. He’s not an idiot.

But he’s not submissive either. He’s Raleigh Becket. He does the fucking. He does not get fucked himself.

But this kid is fast, and strong, and knows how to fight, and Raleigh honestly isn’t sure he would win if he employed any of his tricks right now. Sure, for any other civilian, having a gun held in his mouth would be no problem, but the kid is no ordinary civilian.

And that, more than the gun, is what makes Raleigh part his legs in acquiescence.

“Very good,” the kid purrs.

He doesn’t quite succeed in making Raleigh beg, but on the other hand, Raleigh can’t remember the last time he shouted someone’s name when he came.

 

 

“You’re limping,” Mako comments with raised eyebrows when Raleigh walks back into the gardening company’s headquarters.

Raleigh grunts. He’s never bottomed before, and he’s got mixed feelings about it. Sure, having someone pound into your prostate is great and all, but the soreness after? He could do without. His only consolation is, surely the kid is feeling the same thing. Brat.

“Did you end up punching the client in the throat?” Mako presses.

Raleigh tilts his head to the side in thought. Now that he thinks of it, the kid did a _lot_ more damage to him than vice versa. And they both topped, so he doesn’t even win in that way. Fuck!

Something about his face makes Mako smirk. “Should I send someone else next weekend? He called about 10 minutes ago, asking for someone to trim his hedges.”

That makes Raleigh smile darkly. He can feel the weight of his pistol in his jeans every time he shifts. He may have lost this round, but he’ll get his revenge.

The kid’s asking for it, anyway. They both know he wasn’t calling for a gardener.

“Nah,” he says. “I’ll take the gig.”

“He must give a good tip,” Mako observes.

Raleigh grins. “You could say that,” he says, and goes to take a nap in the backroom.

 


End file.
